Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (28 page)

Chapter Thirty Two

The majestic entrance to Somenski’s castle lay before him. Petran’s eyes narrowed as the wind blew a strand of hair across his face. He did not know the castle well, but there had to be another way in—the long bridge connecting one mountain to the other looked too daunting. Rumor had it, the only time someone had dared attack the dragon lord’s castle they were decimated before they even got half way across the bridge. Petran wondered if history would repeat itself tonight.

He took shape quietly by one the pillars under the bridge and examined the draco’s defenses. He had been watching the castle for the past couple of hours, memorizing the surveillance patterns in an attempt to spot any flaws in the security.

There were two sentinels guarding the main entrance, and two more watching from the towers above. No signs of distress or reinforcements for all the guards were in their human form. Good, that meant Somenski was not expecting visitors.

Quickly dematerializing, Petran
clouded out
to the top of one of the watchtowers and ducked low. A massive shadow blocked the crescent moon drawing his attention. Looking up, he spotted a black flag flapping with the wind. The castle was in mourning. Yerik had been right. The Lord had publicly acknowledged the loss of a family member, his daughter, and was officially stating it for anyone to see.

Bloody Hiad
, Petran cursed silently.

The success of his mission had just gone from difficult to virtually impossible. He wanted to kick himself for his cowardice and for fleeing the Castle of Kings without Talia, but he could not afford to waste time now with self-flagellation. Only the Soartas knew what she was going through right now under Kalaur’s sadistic claws.

He crept along the roof, careful to stay away from the bird’s eye view of the guard. Picking up a small stone, he threw it toward the opposite side of the tower. The noise was barely audible, but enough to catch the sentinel’s attention. As the guard moved to the left, and poked his head out to verify what had made such an unexpected noise, Petran floated in unseen and sneaked through the tower door.

A long spiral stairway greeted him on the other side.

He paused, weighing his options. He could try to teleport further into the castle, but the fortress was a labyrinth. The massive channels connecting the various parts of the mountain made it impossible for him to be sure he would materialize in the right area and not get stuck in a stone wall or something. So he kept his presence hidden within the safety of his cloud form, and floated down the long stairway. The steps led him to the kitchens then through an archway where the marvelous waterfall stood. The same one Talia had showed him on the very first night they had met.

He knew the back entrance to Somenski’s sleeping quarters was one of the many balconies across the hollow of the waterfall.

His eyes scanned the area, looking for any signs of guards or barriers to his plan. Nothing. The coast was clear. He would be able to teleport in without anyone seeing—

Out of nowhere, the shape of a tall man stepped out of the shadows right onto Somenski’s balcony. The stranger looked furtively over his shoulder, before sneaking inside. The male’s face was hidden under a hooded cape, preventing Petran from seeing who the intruder was but there was no mistake, the newcomer was not paying Somenski a friendly visit.

Son of a whore.

With several questions coursing through his mind, Petran leaped into the air and landed silently on the stone ledge on the other side. Instead of revealing himself on arrival, he hid in the shadows watching what the man wanted with Somenski.

His neighbor was deep in sleep on his bed. It was clear he was not having a restful doze for a deep frown crinkled his elderly brow and his lips kept mumbling incomprehensible words.

The intruder stopped by Somenski’s bedside and pulled out a bundle of clothes from underneath his cape. Unwrapping it, he revealed two blankets, one red, and one grey. The light hit on the material revealing Petran’s Coat of Arms handcrafted on their surface.
Son of a bloody whore!

Using the grey sheet as a glove, the intruder then held the red blanket up, at arm’s length. 

Confusion clouded Petran’s mind as he watched the stranger. At once, Dr. Jenner’s words flooded through his mind, “The virus spreads like the smallpox.”

Smallpox.

Mighty Soartas!

The Spanish Conquistadors had used sheets and clothes infested with the disease to decimate entire empires in the south of Americas. If Jenner was correct, and if the dragon’s ailment worked the same way, the burglar was infecting Somenski in the same fashion and was planning to leave Petran’s insignia as a souvenir.

The red blanket was winched up in the air and floated slowly on top of the sleeping draco. Petran had to do something before the contamination worsened the dragon’s health.

“Stop right there,” he commanded, stepping into the room.

The filthy rat jolted in place and turned around. As he did, his hood fell back revealing a man with a flat nose and long ears.

The stranger was Vrajitor, Kalaur’s physician, who was supposed to be working on a cure for the Curse.

“Your majesty,” the bastard replied as if they had just bumped into each other in the market.

“What in Hiad do you think you’re doing?”

The traitor narrowed his eyes at Petran and the left corner of his mouth lifted in an odd smile, which looked more like a twitch.

Another snippet of hidden memory jumped to the forefront of Petran’s mind. The draco kid, Cornel, told him that one of the travelers who had given a blanket to his parents in gratitude for their hospitality had a weird smile. “He didn’t do it very often,” the boy had mentioned, “but when he did, it looked like he was having a fit or something, more like a twitch.”

For Hiad’s sake, Vrajitor had been the engine behind the Curse all along, and was obviously acting under Kalaur’s orders.

“You filthy skunk,” Petran snarled.

At once, Vrajitor lunged forward, clearly hoping to plough his way through by sheer force, but Petran reacted quickly and blocked the rat’s path with his own body. They crashed together hard against the furniture, but before the clock ticked another second, Petran struck, throwing a series of punches to the scoundrel’s ribs.

Even though Vrajitor was a dragon and his powers were a shadow of Petran’s, he was solidly built and almost twice Petran’s size. He grunted in pain, but Petran’s second round of punches was interrupted by Vrajitor’s elbow in his spine. Feeling the hit, Petran plunged to his knees. Vrajitor lifted his closed fist into the air ready to crack his skull, but Petran dematerialized just time and his opponent’s punch met cold stone.

A furious wail resounded in the room as Vrajitor latched onto his cracked knuckles, which gave Petran the break he was looking for. He materialized right behind the bastard, and then struck him in the spine with his elbow, knocking Vrajitor down onto his stomach. Before Vrajitor could recover, he grabbed hold of one arm and twisted it back forcing the bastard to submit.

It worked.

Another low-pitched grunt echoed in the room. Somenski stirred on his bed, but did not wake.

“Why did Kalaur send you?” Petran commanded, but only received a filthy curse in response. So he wrenched the hound’s fingers until they cracked apart.

Raw bone ripped through skin. It was not a good sight.

“I will pop each and every one of your grubby fingers, physician, if you don’t answer me.”

“Argh,” Vrajitor cried out.

“Answer me!”

“It wasn’t Kalaur who sent me here tonight.”

“Do not waste my time, Vrajitor, I am in no mood for a long interrogation.”

“You should take it up with Lord Yerik then. He will be able to explain in detail why he sent me.”

Confusion and incredulity ignited Petran’s rage. Vrajitor wanted him to believe that his long-time councilor had been plotting with his enemy, and planning a coup behind Petran’s back. Yerik had been his father’s personal advisor, he’d been an integral member of the vampire government for centuries, for Hiad’s sake. His character was questionable at times but he was not a snitch.
Was he?

“You filthy liar,” Petran growled, refusing to believe his ears. “I’ll make sure Somenski puts an end to your bloody master but before the night is over, you will cross the gates of Hiad!” To make sure he had made his point, he popped the bastard’s thumbs out of their sockets.

“Argh! I’m not lying. How do you think I got hold of a blanket with your insignia? Kalaur has commissioned me to develop the Curse, but Lord Yerik was the one who ordered tonight’s strike. Ask him!”

“I certainly will,” Petran mumbled, more to himself. There was no doubt he would be having a very decisive chat with his soon-to-be former councilor. If Vrajitor was telling the truth, Yerik was plotting to overthrow Petran.

Bit by bit, the strange Curse, the assassination of the rebels, the marriage proposal, and all the rest of the unusual occurrences over the past months started to make sense.

Somenski had refused Kalaur’s initial proposal to marry Talia. Kalaur found a disease, which could kill dragons and unleashed it on Somenski’s work force, thus weakening his sovereignty. But he probably had not count on the serfs to have developed some immunity against the virus, because after a while the death counts in the affected villages started decreasing. So, Kalaur had appealed to murder, and started contaminating his neighbor’s blankets. When this alternate plan failed to deliver results in a timely manner, Kalaur had turned back to Somenski putting pressure to give his daughter away in marriage. However, how Kalaur had managed to buy out Yerik was still a mystery to him. Petran knew Kalaur had been after the vampire lands for a very long time, and was certain the draco had promised them to the Desert Daemons. So, what was in it for Yerik?

Petran glanced at his frail neighbor on the bed. Blisters were already emerging from his grey skin, and his lips had turned purple. The Curse had started its job.
Bloody Hiad.
Talia had been so close to her father. What if she had touched the infected blankets? Had she been exposed to the Curse as well?

“How many times have you done this?”

“’Tis the first time.”

The acrid smell of deceit lifted into the air. Petran didn’t waste time arguing but he didn’t want to kill the snake just yet, so he simply twisted his wrist. Too bad it was to the wrong side. Vrajitor wailed another roar of pain.

“I will kill you for this, vampire. I will make sure you die a long slow death.”

“Save your saliva for the Draconian Trial, Doctor,” Petran sneered in the rat’s ears, “Because that’s where I’m taking you.”

But before he could get a good hold on Vrajitor’s collar and drag him outside, Somenski’s seneschal burst into the room with two guards.

“Halt,” he yelled already advancing into the room.

Damned the Soartas! It would be very counterproductive to kill Somenski’s staff members, especially his personal assistant, for the old draco would never forgive Petran for that. His only choice was to let go of Vrajitor and lurch into the air before the guards landed their hands on him.

He alighted on one of the beams in the high ceiling and waited. From the corner of his eye, he saw Vrajitor use the opportunity to run for it. Cradling his bad arm, the prick jumped to his escape through the window.

“King Petran, you are surrounded. There’s no way out,” the seneschal uttered from down below. “Surrender and we will not hurt you.”

Petran was far from scared of them, but he was afraid of turning this into a bloodbath. He had come here to talk Somenski into taking Natalia back, and now he was hanging from the ceiling, and would probably be accused of trying to murder the old sod.

One of the sentinels decided to take action and jumped up grabbing Petran by the foot. Petran simply kicked the bastard square in the forehead. He fell back like a potato sack crashing to the floor, just inches from Somensnki’s slumped body.

“Be careful, doorknob!” The seneschal smacked at the fallen guard. “You will hurt our lord.”

So that was why they hadn’t attacked him at full force yet.

From his vantage point, Petran could see his neighbor’s skin grow thicker and greyer by the second, scales had started popping on the edges of his mouth. Time was running out. Somenski’s teeth clattered, but his forehead glistened with sweat as if the room had turned into a sauna, which was rather strange because no matter how warm summer was, dragons never felt the heat. Their natural body heat adapted accordingly, keeping them as warm or as cold as they needed to be.

Keep them warm.

Jenner’s words came to his mind once more. He had said the virus freezes the host’s blood cells.

In a shocking eureka moment, Petran realized the virus was not blocking Somenski from shifting, as they had originally thought, it was stopping him from creating heat. Dragons needed their natural heat to shift. Without it, they didn’t have the strength to do so or heal themselves.

Petran’s eyes lit up as a plan formed in his head. It was insane, borderline suicidal, but there was no other way. Kalaur and Yerik wanted to frame Petran for Somenski’s death and since the dracos had caught him in the dragon lord’s quarters without an invitation, it was done. No one would ever believe he had been framed.